


Rainbow Tears

by Serpex



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Middle School, Bullying, Depression, Fluff, M/M, Reality check, Revelation, stingue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 04:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9862628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpex/pseuds/Serpex
Summary: Rogue's been living alone for a long time ever since his father fell ill. And it was loneliness that comforted him every night. But when a strange man and his son move into town, Rogue begins to discover aspects of himself that he never thought he would get to experience again. Yet, these emotions existed in the fabric of his mind. And with these new exhilarating thoughts, there was an underlying fear that plagued him from within.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little thing I wrote because I was feeling down. Some of the problems mentioned are also things going on in my life right now, so it makes me relieved in a sense to get all these feelings out like this. I just want to know if there's anyone out there who would be willing to read something like this...

"Hey! Look, it's the little Ro-Ro! Why aren't you going down your stream?" a boy cheered. A handful of kids laughed full-heartedly. I sat quietly reading my book, refusing to respond to any comments.

Talking only makes it worse, I thought. Suddenly, the same boy who spoke snatched the book away and threw it into the trashcan.

"Fetch!" he sneered. I looked at the snobby boy, but did not respond once more. I walked over to the trashcan and silently picked up the novel, removing various pieces of tissue.

"Snot-digger! Snot-digger!" the class chanted. Suddenly, the door opened, and the class went silent. Our science teacher, Mr. Jiemma Orland, walked in, his hair slicked back with an extreme amount of hair gel, a symbol that meant change which was sometimes for better or worse. However, behind him, walking boldly, was a new kid, a boy. He had thick blonde hair and had a smug look on his face. Rogue sighed. It seemed like another jock to join the crowd.

"Everyone, I want to introduce you all to a new transfer student from Winterville Middle School. He's come here to East Sky Academy for a full honors coarse. Although he may be younger, treat him well. Alright then, introduce yourself!" Mr. Orland exclaimed with pride. The boy bowed and looked at the class with a smile, revealing perfectly aligned teeth and revealing a single crystal hanging from his ear.

"Good morning, I'm Sting Eucliffe. I'm 12 years old and should be in seventh grade, but guess I'm here instead, in your eighth grade class," he greeted.

"Nice to meet you!" the class called back. Mr. Orland nodded.

"Treat him well as you treat anyone else," he stated stoically. "Mr. Eucliffe, you may sit next to Mr. Cheney, Rogue Cheney." I raised my hand slowly and the guy walked over and plopped down next to me. Almost immediately, he laid his head down and fell asleep. This guy got here on a full honors course, eh? I don't believe it. I bet he's just rich son who got his parents cash to back up his whole damn life. Some people like me actually had to work our way into the school. Oh wait, that was just me.

The whole class continued with an absence of life as Mr. Orland rambled on and on about mitosis or something. I wrote down everything he said, but didn't allow any of it to sink in. I was only looking forward to the final period of the day, a study hall in which no one cared if you stayed or not. It was the time when I could escape from everyone to a place that only I knew.

And so time passed with a double block algebra class, history in its wake, reading up the near finale, and physical education biting me on the rear. And the study hall came. I walked into the room, gave a glance towards the teacher who requested we all call her Cana, who nodded and marked me present before waving me off. She wasn't too into teaching but was a large enforcer on drugs (although it's suspected she kept it all for herself). And so I gathered up what was left of my pride and proudly walked down the empty hallways like I owned them. But it was around the corner I saw him again.

We collided and fell with a flurry of papers going every direction.

"I'm so sorry," a rushed voice said. Startled, I looked up to see the new kid. He seemed equally surprised as we held each other's gazes for a moment too long. He watched my red eyes while I stared into his blue ones which suddenly seemed slitted for slight moment. I grasped myself and blinked away bashfully.

"No, no," I said. "I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. Let me get those for you." I picked up as many papers as I could and handed him a reasonable sized stack.

"Thanks," he said cheerfully. And for a moment, I was silent with wide eyes. No one ever thanked other people here. It was every person for themselves, be it a rich man's son or not, this guy was just like the rest, right?

"It was of no painful ordeal," I replied. With a sudden confidence, I tried to engage in a meaningful conversation. "You're that Eucliffe kid from this morning." He nodded.

"Call me Sting," he insisted. "I find that referring to everyone by their last name is a bit inefficient. A first name exists to create a bond that makes everyone closer. It holds meaning and reason for a person. It's like what if I wanted some spaghetti but there's a large difference between homemade stuff and the stuff that comes in the can. One holds love and affection and hard work inside that one dish where the other was probably made with machinery, an infinite bore that produces crap in a cycle of living androids." I let a small fake smile come onto my lips out of courtesy. But that didn't stop my direct comments.

"Perhaps in your world," I stated. "Here, names are of no importance." Sting frowned.

"You think so?" he asked. "I beg to differ after going through today." I shrugged. Changing the subject, I asked my own question.

"Do you need to be somewhere in a hurry?" Sting nodded.

"I have some final papers to turn in," he replied. "The usual first day stuff." I told him he needn't waste anymore time with me then. He nodded and hurriedly rushed off towards the office. That was all I saw of him at school, aside from classes.

Winter had settled in by then and times were headed towards worse for me. My father's health had deteriorated even more. I don't think he has much more time here in this world. It had started almost three years ago. Diabetes had always run through our family so it was bound to happen when his kidneys would fail, just as all the others before him. But he was a trekker, a man who refused to give up.

That was just the way of Skiadrum Cheney.

So he ignored the signs. I was still a boy with a child-like mind of state. I feel guilty now that I would act all spoiled like the other kids. It was only a phase of wanting to feel normal. And he tried.

But the day when he fell and couldn't get up was the day I had to throw away the child. This was the same child who would sing and dream of a world where roses flourished just like my mother had always done in the flower shop. This was the same child who would cry when he had found a baby bird who had fallen and would die from its broken wing, falling prey to the ground dwellers. And just as it is, this was a child who would cry and yearn to be held in a loving parent's arms, weeping out sorrows that were irrelevant.

But that child had disappeared, been replaced, and forgotten under mounds of dirt and debris, crushed to nothing by the sheer destruction of reality. And reality does not care. It will not stop for you to shed tears. And it will not stop to guide you. It will tear you away from those you love and leave you to pick up invisible chains that connect to nothing, an ending that never ends.

So I grew up. I stay up making sure my father still lives, praying that his breath doesn't stop like my mother's. But I can only watch as his voice and pants shallow with each passing cough and sputtering with drips and drops of dark blood. I can see him try to hide it, wanting to show that I have no need to worry. However, he is unaware that I cannot turn a blind eye anymore. But I could only observe with a constricting notion of what would come.

When his eyes fell short and the heavens took his sight, I watched then too. Odd as it is though, my father never stopped smiling. He still spoke of colors as if they existed before him, a rainbow of colors that had lives of their own. That was two years ago.

Last year it came crushing down. His body could no longer function as a human. His liver failed. His pancreas failed. His lungs and heart became heavy with fluids. So he was subject to other treatments. He was like a living specimen, always being poked, cut open, and closed again in a repeating dance of surgeries and operations. But the blood enhancers were not working anymore. Nothing more could be done.

So now he lays in bed at the nursing home, eyes a soft gray and mouth pulled into a reminiscing smile. And though his hearing had not faltered in his years, he had stopped listening. I know what he thinks. He is waiting for the reaper to allow him the passage where he may see my mother again. For the next voice that he will open his mind to will be hers. And in that moment, I will have truly lost him.

Two days ago, pneumonia latched onto him and isn't letting go. And in the process of regulating him, the doctor's found a tumor in his lung. His eyes do not open anymore but his pulse continues slowly and his hands always move, looking for the linking fingers of my mother that once intertwined with his. For his sake, I am doing all that I can to bring success. I have to because as his son, I needed to care for him in his most difficult moments, just as he had stayed with me during mine.

I exited the school and felt the cold air whip its sharp claws across my body. I shivered under the preying wind as it howled over and over, trying to rip my thin jacket to shreds and then devour me alive with a cold hearted jaw. Unlike the other students who had chaperones, expensive brand clothing that was fitted specifically to shield each student's body, I've been living with only this one jacket my entire life.

Once, it had shined an amazing deep blue, but now it was washed and weathered to a black that reflected a poor child. But what could I do? When a person insults you by appearance, there is never an option of just ignoring them or telling them to stop. Words are like parasites. They slide into the pores that can never be filled and rot inside you, poisoning you like a snake waiting to digest a mouse. Slowly but effectively.

And as much as you try to get rid of it, the stigma has already been marked and you have to carry it with you forever. It can be shrouded and hidden, but never erased.

The destination I sought was nearing in my line of sight and so my feet took me closer until I stood before a mansion. The sign above read "Yukino's Home for the Impaired" and it was this place where my father resided. Each time I saw the sign, warmth gathered inside me and the long 13 block walk left no strain upon my legs.

Suddenly, before I could reach the door itself, the knob turned and a stranger looked at me. He was paralyzed from the waist down, and had white wisps floating on his head with a long beard down his face. With sharp attentive eyes, he seemed almost ancient. He was a man I'd never seen before.

"You'd better come in before you freeze," the mysterious man said. I blinked out of my trance and shuffled in, careful to leave none of the snow anywhere inside. The man in the wheelchair nodded and strolled out of the lobby into a room placed at the end, one I remember being vacant the day previously. Looks like another one had come to join the crew.

"I see you've met our newest member," a soft voice said. I turned and beamed at my life saver and someone I could actually call a hero of sorts, Ms. Yukino Aguria. She was a charming woman with a passion to help people. As a child, she had grown up with a sister who was involved with an illegal organization called Oracion Seis. In the end, her sister had to go to re-hab and it pained Yukino to see her go through the stages of recession. As a result, Yukino sought to find better remedies to victims of such atrocities but had found it too difficult. After failing college for a third time, she retreated to the elderly where she found her true talents in comforting the aged.

"Good afternoon," I greeted. "Has he just moved into town? I don't believe I recognize him." Yukino nodded.

"Don't let his looks faze you. He is quite a gentleman and makes quite the joking type of guy," she said. "He moved here with his son recently but wishes not to burden his son with his condition during the pursuit of his career choices."

"I see. And the others find him enjoyable?"

"Oh yes!" Yukino exclaimed. "Igneel and Grandine have hit off very quick with Weisslogia. Even Metalicana cracked a grin after a short time in his company. I find him to be a very nice addition to our family." I gave a small laugh.

"Oh dear, if we have two men who think they can make jokes, we will never hear the end of it."

"Perhaps not, but it certainly gives us a break from Igneel's food puns. I swear you can throw any type of cuisine at him and he'll spit it back at you with a joke or a rhyme that may actually kill someone one day. Precisely this lunch time, for example. I had requested Minerva to make some of her special steak and you know what Mr. Dragneel responded? 'This looks mighty tasty. I guess it really 'meats' our expectations." And I have to listen to him at every meal time!"

"Well that sounds just like him," I said. "It's quite obvious where his son gets his humor." Yukino grinned.

"Yes, very," she agreed. "Speaking of the younger Dragneel, have you seen him or his brother about lately? He hasn't visited in a while."

"Did he not tell you?" I asked. "Zeref is visiting from Glowsworth tomorrow so they've gone to pick him up."

"Oh my!" she gasped. "The oldest Dragneel is visiting? This is a delightful event. I must see Minerva about a feast. Oh Igneel will be so joyous." With that, the girl rushed off to the kitchen where she was promptly lectured by the mistress in manners before they both proceeded to squeal quietly. I felt comfortable in the homely atmosphere. After all, it was something that I lacked in the past few years. As per routine, I dumped my school stuff in the corner behind the reception and wandered to the back where all the rooms were.

There were ten patient rooms, five on each side of the hall way. On the left side were rooms that quartered Metalicana, the grumpy old hoot that would just stare into your soul and rarely move a muscle, Grandine, a cheerful lady who could knit at lightning speeds with her eyes closed, and lying closest to the end was my own father, Skiadrum. The opposite side held Igneel's room, which was once set far away do to his explosive bouts of snoring heard at night, and now this Weisslogia. I would have to properly introduce myself later since I'd be seeing him often. But my father was my top priority.

I could hear laughter coming from the open room towards the end of the hallway, signaling that everyone was probably gathering for a game of poker or something. My father's room was open ajar and I walked in, causing the hinges to squeak slowly. Sensing some presence, my father twitched his hands. I wanted to reach out but could not.

"Father, it's me," I began. His hands stopped and his body lay motionless again. Despite my notions to stop, I continued. "Today thing's went okay at school. Those bullies threw my book in the garbage but I didn't mind. I followed your words today. Always remain to yourself lest your emotions destroy your rationality. You remember, right? And I also met this new kid. His name was Sting Eucliffe. I haven't figured out how I feel about him. He said... Thank you to me. It was the first time in a while." I paused, unsure of how to continue.

I swallowed and was suddenly aware of how dry my throat was. Something was off. There was something in the air that I couldn't put my finger on. Suddenly, I turned and flinched. There stood Weisslogia in his wheelchair. Had he been watching me the whole time? He started to roll into the room and I moved over and watched as he strode up to the bed and let his gaze fall upon my father. He let out a sigh before turning his head to me. Once again, those eyes looked at me but somehow, they were comforting and familiar.

"Boy," he said. "You are Skiadrum's son, Rogue Cheney." It was not a question but a statement. He turned back to Skiadrum and seemed to be thinking. Feeling perturbed by the silence, I spoke.

"Mr., um-"

"Just call me Weisslogia," he stated.

"Okay, uh, Weisslogia, was there something you needed?" I asked. The bearded man beckoned me over. I obediently walked over and kneeled beside his wheel chair, my arms and hand resting on the bed. Weisslogia let out another exasperated breath and spoke once more.

"Your father was and still is a good friend of mine. In his youth, he and I were roommates," he shared. My eyes widened. This man was my father's old roommate? My father had only mentioned he once had a good friend in college a few times but never by name. "He and I were polar opposites, always fighting. But we got along and would always stand up for each other. It's ironic that now we both meet again in the time where time ceases for us. You know, you and my son share the same birthday as well." I whirled my head around.

"Your son?" I uttered. He chuckled.

"You've already met him," was all Weisslogia replied. "He actually will be visiting soon, and I believe you would be surprised. My hopes are your opinion of him will change." I didn't understand his words at all. I knew his son? I racked through my brain trying to match up anyone who resembled him but Weisslogia just looked too ancient. And then it occurred to me.

"I don't mean to be rude, but are you the same age as my father?" Weisslogia let out a howl of laughter.

"Oh no," he replied joyfully. "I'm much older but let's just say this man failed school many many times." So the kid wouldn't look like him anyway. Weisslogia seemed to read my mind. "If you really want to figure it out, I should mention my son shares my eyes very distinctively." I looked at him in the eyes. He had slitted pupils, which I suppose wasn't normal for a person but Grandine was a women with tufts growing out of her cheekbones. I had no reason to judge. I pondered a bit too long again though.

"Don't rot your youth away over it. Like I said, he'll be here soon. It seems your father should get some rest. His hand is twitching again," Weisslogia pointed out. It seemed he'd notice as well. "It's almost like the old college days." I blinked.

"What?" Weisslogia widened his eyes in shock.

"You mean you don't know?" I stared blankly. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his wheelchair. "Your old man used to have Tourette's, you know." This was new to me. I sat in silence trying to process what he'd said.

"The guy would mostly blink but his hands would move in bizarre ways. You should've seen when he went drinking. He'd smack every party pooper every which way by the time he'd finish three beers." Weisslogia's eyes glinted with memories. "But I guess it kind of disappeared when he met your mother. Man that woman was a beauty I tell you. I'll admit, I used to have a crush on her but Skiadrum was a sly one. Pulled her off one night and confessed in the dark before any other man could get close to her. Soon after, I guess his twitching and stuff stopped." He paused and then continued in a softer voice. "I imagine he's been twitching since the accident though?"

I looked away sadly and nodded. Weisslogia inhaled and exhaled slowly.

"I wish I could have been there for you," he said solemnly. "Listen, if you ever want to talk, I'll be across the hallway." I shot him a smile and then Weisslogia turned and wheeled out back where I heard Igneel shoot a barrage of knock-knock jokes towards him. As much as things went back to being content, I suddenly felt foreign to the man before me.

How well did I really know my father? I shook my head. Answers always lie in waiting so they would have to wait for another time.

"Well father," I said. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow." I received no reaction. I stood up and bowed in respect even if he couldn't see me. Then I left the room, leaving the door ajar just as it had been left.


End file.
